


It's a Wonderful Life, Dean Winchester

by MayaAodhan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - It's a Wonderful Life, Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Christmas Fluff, M/M, Sad Dean, angel who wants her wings, dcminibang, movies - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 15:45:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5422775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayaAodhan/pseuds/MayaAodhan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I can’t do this anymore. I’m so tired. Nothing has worked the way I expected it. I just wish…” A tired hand scruffed hair that was usually precisely combed. “I wish I didn’t even exist. Everyone would be better off if I didn’t exist.” </p><p>Hannah tapped the screen of her tablet as she registered the prayer. She pursed her lips and scowled thoughtfully. <br/>“Do you wish to assign an angel, ma’am?” The young man seated before his own screen scrolled through several names. “We have several with openings in their schedules.” <br/>“No,” Hannah said abruptly. “I will take of it.” <br/>He looked up at her, brown eyes wide with surprise. “Ma’am? It’s Dean Winchester.” <br/>“I’m aware,” Hannah snapped. She headed for her office. Her eyes went briefly out of focus. “Meg? To my office please.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_“I can’t do this anymore. I’m so tired. Nothing has worked the way I expected it. I just wish…”_ A tired hand scruffed hair that was usually precisely combed. _“I wish I didn’t even exist. Everyone would be better off if I didn’t exist.”_

 

Hannah tapped the screen of her tablet as she registered the prayer. She pursed her lips and scowled thoughtfully. 

“Do you wish to assign an angel, ma’am?” The young man seated before his own screen scrolled through several names. “We have several with openings in their schedules.” 

“No,” Hannah said abruptly. “I will take of it.” 

He looked up at her, brown eyes wide with surprise. “Ma’am? It’s Dean Winchester.” 

“I’m aware,” Hannah snapped. She headed for her office. Her eyes went briefly out of focus. “Meg? To my office please.” 

In a few moments, the ringing sound of heels striking the solid floor of the office was the herald of the new arrival before the door to her office opened without a single knock. 

A young woman with a heart shaped face, wickedly dancing eyes and a saucy smile stepped into the room. “Well hey there, Hannah.” Her drawling tones were a counterpoint to Hannah’s restrained accents.

“Meg.” Hannah set down the tablet she was reading. “I finally have a task for you.” 

Expressive dark eyebrows winged upwards. “Oh?” She didn’t sound entirely convinced. 

“Dean Winchester is having a bit of a crisis of confidence. Perhaps without meaning to, he has sent a general prayer to us. I have decided to assign you to answer that prayer.” 

“Who the hell is Dean Winchester?” 

Hannah cleared her throat. “He is on our watch list. That’s all you need to know.” 

“Uh huh.” Meg propped her hands on tight, jean clad hips. “Well that’s convincing.” 

“For once in your life, Meg, why can’t you follow orders?” Hannah snapped. “Do you even want your wings?” 

Meg tilted her head and relented. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. Alright, what’s the details.”

“Alright then.” Hannah seemed relieved. “You are going to need a little background information…”  

 

 


	2. Age Six

 

**_“At the age of six, Dean Winchester saved his little brother, Sam, from dying in a fire.”_ **

 

His mom had put him to bed hours ago, but Dean Winchester had been reading his comic book under the covers with a flashlight. It was Christmas Eve. No one could sleep Christmas Eve! He licked his thumb and turned another page. Most of the words didn’t make sense to him, but Batman was awesome. Bad guys didn’t stand a change. ZAP! POW!

He turned the last page and flipped his covers off. His round cheeks, lightly dappled with freckles, were flushed from the warmth of hiding under the blankets. He clicked off his Batman flashlight and set it on his bedside table. 

Folding his chubby fingers over his chest, Dean stared up at the glow in the dark constellations his mom had put up there. Batman was the bestest of all the superheroes. He closed his eyes. 

And sniffed. 

Something smelled bad. Something smelled wrong. 

He opened his eyes and sat up in bed. He clambered down, and on bare feed, he padded across the worn carpet of his bedroom floor and used both hands to open the stiff door handle. He peered out. 

“Mom?” 

No answer. 

“Dad?” _No wait. Daddy was away. It was just Mom and Sammy in the house._

He stepped out into the hallway and he shivered. Moonlight streamed in and shadows moved and jumped at him. 

“Mommy?” he asked, his voice trembling. 

He sniffed again. Smoke. It was smoke. His hands clenched into little fists and he swallowed his fear. What was he meant to do? What did Mommy always say to do? 

Sam. 

Get Sam. 

Dean scrambled for his brother’s room across the hallway. He switched on the light and ran to the cot. His fingers, clumsy in their rising panic, unhooked the latches and dropped the side of the cot like he had seem Mommy do so often. 

He grabbed Sammy, but he was heavy. With a grunt, he pulled him close, giving him a tight hug. He went to the door and headed to the stairs. Easy enough in daylight, it was a gaping maw in the darkness. And he didn’t have a hand free to turn on the light. Sammy had woken, and was whimpering. 

“Mom?” Dean called again. 

He carefully stepped downstairs, and the smell of smoke was stronger. On the middle landing, Dean grabbed the edge of the blanket Sammy was wrapped in and pulled it over his brother’s head. The front door was open. Why was the front door open? 

Dean ran out onto the front lawn, holding onto Sammy with arms that were trembling with effort. He stumbled on the path and went to his knees, skinning them through the thin cotton of his pyjama pants. 

He stared up at his house, open windows pouring smoke, his mouth open in sickened fear as he watched their Christmas tree go up in flames.

“Mommy?” 

 

**_“Dean saved his brother’s life that night. Mary Winchester was discovered in the kitchen. A home invasion they say. She was shot once in the chest according to the medical examiner’s report. The house wasn’t too badly damaged, but John Winchester came home for the funeral, packed up the boys and they left Lawrence for five years.”_ **

**_“Damn.” Meg shook her head. “That’s some poor luck right there. But I don’t see what that has to do with …”_ **

**_“I’m not done…”_ **

 

 


	3. Age Twelve

**_“When Dean was twelve, John Winchester brought them back to Lawrence.”_ **

**_“What? Why?”_ **

**_Hannah shrugged. “Who knows…”_ **

 

Dean flicked the light on, dumped his bag on the bed that had once been his, and scowled at his surroundings. He looked up. There were patches on the paint where several stick on stars had been scraped off, or fallen. He didn’t want to be here. 

The bare mattress was brand new. Still in its plastic wrapping. 

“Dean?” Eight year old Sam stood in his doorway. “Dad went out and I’m hungry.” His voice was very quiet, as though he sensed his brother’s mood. 

“Maybe he’s just gettin’ food, Sammy.” 

Sam chewed on his lower lip and glanced back down the hallway. “Yeah.” 

Dean sighed. No. There was no way John Winchester had gone out to get food. Dean unzipped his bag and pulled out his stash all sealed up in a plastic bag. He pulled out a small bag of crisps. 

“Here, have at it, kid.” He tossed them to Sam. 

Sam deftly caught the package. He gave Dean a gap-toothed grin and yanked open the bag. He crunched down on a handful of the slightly stale salty snack. He peered at Dean’s room. 

“So this one was yours? Your room?” 

“Yeah.” Dean turned and sat down on the bed. “Yeah. It was.” 

“How long do you think we will stay here?” 

“Who knows, Sammy. Best not get comfy.” 

 

**_“To the surprise of the boys, they stayed in Lawrence. They expected to be moved on within a couple of months.”_ **

**_“John Winchester seems like a real prize.”_ **

**_“He did his best. He was a returned war veteran and had PTSD. Mary Winchester struggled to keep the family together. He couldn’t deal with her death, and living in the same house.”_ **

**_“Riiiight.” Meg pursed her lips. “I just bet he was in the running for father of the year.”_ **

**_Hannah winced. “Well, in some ways it did get better for the boys. They met the Harvelle’s.”_ **

 

Dean thumbed through the meagre cash Dad had left behind. He said he would be back tomorrow. A few moments later, he considered the contents of the fridge. He sighed. He had to get food for his kid brother or Sammy would never stop bitching at him. 

He closed the fridge door as the doorbell rang. _Crap. Hope no one was looking for Dad. Always a damn hassle when he had to try to convince a total stranger he was just fine looking after his kid brother for one night._

He sauntered to the front of the house and yanked open the door. He studied the tall, slender women with serious dark eyes. 

“Hi. Is your Dad home?” 

“Uhh. No. He’s at work at the moment. Should be home later though.” Dean hung onto the door frame, peering up with a belligerent set to his jaw. 

“No, he ain’t, kid.” The woman folded her arms across her chest, and Dean got a faint chill. He glanced back into the house. Sammy was upstairs. “I haven’t seen your dad’s car since yesterday morning. And since I know he works with Bobby Singer, I sure as hell know he ain’t at work.” 

“Then why’d you ask?” 

Ellen cocked her head. “Good point. Wanted to see if you would lie, I guess.” 

Dean scowled. “So what’re you gonna do?” 

“Get you two to pack some clothes and you can stay with me until your daddy gets home.” 

“Get real, lady, I don’t even know who you are.” 

“Yeah, you do. I live right across the street. You go to junior high with my daughter, Jo Harvelle. I’m Ellen Harvelle. Mrs Harvelle to you.” 

 Dean narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. Jo. Blonde hair, right?” 

“Right.” 

They sized each other up. 

“You got pie?” Dean asked, still trying to uphold his tough stance. 

“Apple.” 

Dean nodded shortly. “Alright. We’ll come. Just ‘cause … y’know… pie.” He gave Ellen a brief flash of a smile. “Hey, Sammy! Sammy!”

“What?” Sammy’s annoyed voice came from the lounge. 

“Get your pyjamas and a change of clothes packed. We’re headin’ to Mrs Harvelle’s for dinner.” 

 

Dean slipped in between the sheets of the bed Mrs Harvelle had told him was his. They were real soft and smelled like some kind of flowers he would protest as girly, but once the lights were out, he pressed his nose to the scent and breathed deep.

 

**_“Poor kid.”_ **

**_Well, the next couple of years got a bit easier. The boys got to stay in one school. They got to make friends. Jo Harvelle was Dean’s best friend up until they turned fifteen.”_ **

**_“Oh? What happened then?”_ **

**_“Jo got a boyfriend, and he was a jealous sort. And Dean met… oh, you will see.”_ **

 

 


	4. Age Fifteen

Dean shoved the broom across the floor of the garage, sweeping the curls of shaved metal into a pile. He squatted down and started swiping the leavings into a pan. 

“You just about done there, boy?” 

Dean glanced up as Bobby Singer wiped his hands on a rag. “Yes, sir.” 

“Alright, come over here, I wanna show you how to drop the oil outta this car. Next one comes in, you are doin’ it.” 

Dean ran his palms down his thighs and grinned. “Yes, sir.” 

 

The car that drove into the lot was an old Lincoln Continental. Bobby muttered something, before heading on out. Dean was focused on pouring the oil carefully into the funnel without spilling a drop. 

He could hear Bobby talking to someone though. 

“Sure, yeah, you can drop it in tomorrow morning. I have a spot on my books.” 

Dean set down the oil canister and came around the side of the lifted bonnet. He could see the front end of the Lincoln, then the front seats. He could see the top of a dark head in the passenger seat, and some guy with shaggy brown hair and a scruffy beard talking to Bobby. 

“Hey,” he said in greeting to the passenger. 

The eyes that met his through coke bottle thick glasses were startlingly blue. “Hello.” 

“Oh hey, you’re Cas Novak, right? We have English together.” Dean smiled. 

The boy blinked, and sat up a little straighter. “We do?” 

“Yeah, well, I kinda sit up near the back. Ms Wilkins and I have an agreement, I don’t cause problems and she doesn’t give me detention when I do no work.” Dean puffed up his chest a little, aiming for tough guy cool. 

He was disappointed when Castiel frowned. “That’s hardly something to brag about. An education is important.” 

“Well, yeah.” Dean scuffed the toe of his well worn boots on the gravel. “I guess.” 

Castiel pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. He glanced aside at his father, who was shaking Bobby’s hand. “Finally,” he muttered. 

Dean scowled as he crossed his arms over his chest, and watched the car reverse out. “Ass.” 

“What did you say, boy?” Bobby asked, heading back to the car he was doing the service boy.

“Nothin’.” Dean headed to help. 

 

**_“What was the point of showing me that?”_ **

**_“That young boy is going to become very important to Dean Winchester.”_ **

**_“Really? Him? He looks like he spends his whole life with his nose buried in a book, and Winchester looks like he couldn’t tell you where the library was if his life depended on it.”_ **

**_Hannah hesitated. “That is an accurate assessment of the situation.”_ **

**_“I’m gonna have to watch all of these greatest hits, aren’t I?”_ **

**_“It will best equip you for helping Dean.”_ **

**_“Okay, okay, get on with it.”_ **

 

Dean watched Castiel Novak leave the library. He had been given after school detention by his math teacher and had just got out. He tucked his hands into the depths of his sheepskin lined coat and headed for the main gates. 

It was damn cold. Winter had hit with a vengeance this year and Christmas decorations swung wildly from lampposts and shopfronts. 

“Hey! Novak!” 

“Nerd boy, wait up.” 

“Leave me alone.” 

The weary voice had Dean turning around. Castiel was surrounded by three guys, clutching the strap of his back pack in both hands. Alastair, Malachi and Zach. He should have known. Those assholes were complete dicks to anyone not immediately connected to their elite group on campus. 

When Malachi shoved Castiel to the ground, and Zach picked up his back pack, Dean narrowed his eyes. He didn’t like Novak either, but geez. Give a guy a break. 

“Hey, assholes. Leave him alone.” 

Zach was tossing Castiel’s books and papers to the ground. 

“Aww, Winchester is sticking up for his boyfriend,” Alastair mocked. “How sweet.” 

Dean got in his face. Although a little shorter, he was solidly built, the hours at Bobby’s shop putting muscle on his lean frame. He met Alastair’s gaze with a fierce light in his olive green eyes. 

“Leave. Him. Alone,” Dean’s voice dropped low. 

“Hey, Winchester.” Malachi grabbed Dean’s shoulder and spun him around. The punch was telegraphed from a mile away and Dean ducked it. He followed up with a solid right to Malachi’s cheek and laid him flat. 

He turned around, took a punch to the jaw from Alastair, but it had barely enough ginger in it to snap his head back. Dean slugged him in the gut, bending him double. He turned on Zach, who dropped Castiel’s bag and held up his hands. 

“Get lost,” Dean said, his voice silky. They flinched when he started forward a step. Malachi and Alastair scrambled to their feet and took off, Zach close behind. 

“Assholes,” Dean muttered. He turned around and squatted down in front of Castiel. “Hey, you okay, Cas?” 

“Castiel. And I’m fine.” Castiel started pulling his books toward him. He sighed at the sight of his bag trampled into the mud by that dick, Zach. Dean helped him, taking three books himself, before rising and holding his hand down toward Castiel. 

Castiel looked up at him with consideration, then reached out at gripped his hand. Dean hauled him to his feet. 

“I’m walkin’ you home,” Dean said flatly. 

“That is unnecessary.” Castiel shook his head. 

“C’mon, man. It’s late. Your bag is stuffed. I can carry half these books and I’m headin’ your way anyway.” 

Castiel stared at his feet. “Fine.” 

They walked in silence all the way to Castiel’s street. 

“Right then.” They stopped outside the Novak house. “Here you go.” Dean handed Castiel the books. Anger and irritation at the silent treatment had him immediately turning and heading down the street. 

“Dean?” Castiel’s voice was very quiet. 

He was going to ignore it. He should have ignored it. But he didn’t. He turned around. 

“Yeah?” 

“Thank you. For helping me. Last time they broke my glasses, so I really appreciate it.” 

Dean nodded, still stiff. “Sure. Whatever.” 

“I don’t…” Castiel pushed the glasses up his nose again, and the pile of books wobbled in his arms. “I don’t make friends easily. Certainly not friends like you.” 

“Like me?” 

“You know. The guy who skips classes. Spends half his time in detention. Can throw a punch. Can…take a punch.” Castiel’s ruffled hair spiked and tangled in the zephyr that swept down the street. “I have never had anyone take a punch for me before. Most of my friends, well they are like me.” 

“I’m not …” Dean hesitated, and stared at the houses with their myriad of Christmas decorations. “I’m not always that guy, y’know.” 

“And I was snotty with you the last time we met. I’m sorry about that.” 

Dean’s mouth reluctantly curved in a smile. “Snotty?” 

Castiel gave a faint smile. “Yes. Snotty.” 

“So maybe, we start again?” Dean held out his hand. “I’m Dean Winchester. Pleased to meet ya.” 

“Castiel Novak. Pleased to meet you too, Dean.” 

They gripped hands firmly. 

 

**_“Ohhh, now I get it.”_ **

**_“Get what?”_ **

**_“Keep going. This is pretty damn adorable. I like little Cas there.”_ **

 

“Dean?” 

John Winchester’s voice floated upstairs to where Dean was studying more than a little reluctantly with his best friend. He huffed a breath. 

“I had better go see what he wants.” 

Castiel, his nose buried in the American Civil War, just nodded. 

Dean headed downstairs on bare feet. 

“Yeah, Dad?” 

His father was washing his hands at the sink. He didn’t look at his son as he said, “I have to go away for a few days. I want you to look after your brother.” 

The resentment flared through him. “What? Why?” 

His father frowned as he dried his hands on a towel. “Because I have to go, Dean. I expect you to hold the fort here.” 

Dean scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah. Okay. Sure.” 

 

**_“Hmm.”_ **

**_“Yes, Meg?”_ **

**_“Nothing, I guess.”_ **

**_“Say it.”_ **

**_“Why was he going away so often?”_ **

**_“Ahh. That factors into Dean’s story in a few years. Have patience.”_ **

 

Dean walked his brother to his elementary school where he watched the tall, lanky kid get enveloped in a group of friends and hauled into the school. 

He headed to the classes he seemed to attend more often. He even spent less time in detention. If anyone asked he said it was because his best friend was a good influence.

It was during science class where he and Jo were avoiding their physics questions when another came in and handed a note to their teacher. 

Dean went cold when Mrs Wright looked at them. His heart dropped out. _Sammy? Dad?_

“Jo Harvelle?” 

Dean’s head snapped around to look at Jo. She was chewing on her pencil. 

“Miss Harvelle?” 

Jo looked up then. “Huh?” 

“Can you please go to the principal’s office?” 

“What did you do?” Dean whispered.

Jo scowled. “I haven’t done anything…lately.” 

“Take your bag with you.” 

Jo heaved up her backpack, slung it over her shoulder and bounded out, blonde ponytail bouncing. 

She didn’t return. 

 

Dean knocked on the Harvelle front door. 

It was a very pale Mrs Harvelle that answered it. 

“Hello, Dean.” Her voice was hollow. 

“Hey, Ms Harvelle. Did Jo get in trouble?” 

“No.” 

He was horrified to see her eyes fill with tears, and his hands clenched into fists. “Ma’am?” 

“Mr Harvelle was killed in an accident at work this morning.” 

“Oh.” Dean was rocked. His hands pressed to his gut. Mr Harvelle had been good to him. When Dad wasn’t around, and Dad wasn’t around a lot, Mr Harvelle had taken him and Sammy to games, to school when it snowed, out to dinner with his family. He had made them part of his family without hesitation after Mrs Harvelle had dragged the recalcitrant pair into her home that first night. He crumpled, tears filling his eyes. “Oh. I’m …I’m sorry.” 

Ellen Harvelle suddenly wrapped her arms around Dean and held him close. He pressed his face into her shoulder, trying to stop the tears from falling. His arms were wrapped tight around her. 

“You and Sammy come spend the night, okay? I want you both here. I need you both here. Jo does too.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Dean nodded, his voice muffled. 

 

Later that night, he had cried into his pillow. He was startled when his door opened and Jo crept into his bed, under the blankets and wrapped herself around him. But he held her close. 

When Ellen looked in on them later, she hesitated. She should send Jo back to her bed, but she needed her best friend. She left the door open in any case.

 

**_“And Dean never made a move on Jo?”_ **

**_“Not then. Not any other night either. His heart already belonged to another and he saw Jo as nothing but a sister.”_ **

**_“Huh.”_ **

 

John returned for the funeral, and he stood at the graveside with his sons. On one side Dean held Sammy’s hand, quiet tears trailing down his cheeks. On the other side stood Castiel, at fifteen a handsome boy, quiet, dark haired and serious. 

Dressed in a suit, he still managed to look rumpled, his tie a little askew. 

When Dean let out a hiccoughed sob, Castiel slid his hand into Dean’s, twining their fingers. Dean looked down, startled, then up into Castiel’s serene blue eyes. He tucked the corner of his mouth in in a watery smile, and held on. 

 

**_“Meg? Are you…is that a tear?”_ **

**_“No. Shut up.”_ **

 

 


	5. Age Seventeen

Dean, grown another six inches in the sixth months since his sixteenth birthday, crouched down to lift the part box into his arms to transfer it from the pallet to the shelves. He dusted off his hands on his shirt and headed out onto the work floor. 

Bobby whistled sharply. “Hey, that Ford needs its oil changed and the other fluids topped up. Get on that, Winchester.” 

Dean flipped him a salute and started work, murmuring the lyrics to For Whom The Bell Tolls. With practiced movements he filled each reservoir precisely and dropped the hood when he was done. 

He glanced over at the mechanic next to him, and frowned. Christian was working on Jo’s car, in for a service and replacing the almost worn brake pads. Something struck him as off. Christian was leaning on the propped up bonnet, forehead on his arm. 

“You okay, man?” Dean asked. 

“Huh?” Christian peered at him with bleary eyes. 

Dean scowled. He knew that look. Christian had taken off for his lunch break. Clearly a liquid lunch break. Holding the hood, Christian unhitched the hood prop and dropped it into place. 

“Bobby, I’m done with this one.” Christian turned on Dean. “Back off, kid. Go back to pushing a broom.” He planted a hand on Dean’s chest and shoved. 

Dean stumbled back a couple of paces. He waited until Christian had gone into the office to finish the paperwork and leaning into the driver’s side, popped the hood again. He reset the hood prop and peered in. _What was it that felt wrong?_

Nothing seemed out of place. But something churned in his gut. 

“Hey!” The shout from the office was loud. Dean glanced up only in time to see Christian bearing down on him, face red, fists clenched. He shoved Dean. “What are you doin’?” 

“Nothing… I just…” Dean fended off the hands. “You’re drunk.” 

“Liar!” Christian snarled, and grabbing Dean by the front of the shirt, he let fly with a straight right. Dean’s head snapped back and his knees went out from under him. 

He blinked the dizziness out of his eyes and shook his head. He turned his head to the side, blinking again, and frowned. He looked back up at Christian and now the hovering features of his annoyed employer.

“Hey! HEY!” Bobby’s shout echoed in the interior. “What the hell is going on, you morons?” 

“Kid was tinkering with the car there.” Christian flung his hand at Dean as he scrambled to his feet. “I dunno what he touched.”

“Dean? What the hell, boy? You know you don’t touch other people’s work,” Bobby growled. 

Dean probed his jaw. “He’s drunk. And he’s workin’ on Jo’s car.” He stared belligerently at Christian. 

“I ain’t drunk,” Christian scoffed. “I had one beer at the bar. One. That ain’t enough to make me crosseyed.” 

Dean set his jaw. “He hasn’t reattached the brake lines.” 

“Bullshit. I did so.” 

Dean just crossed his arms and looked at Bobby. “They aren’t connected.” 

Bobby grunted as he lowered himself down and peered under the little Nissan. When he rose to his feet, his usually flushed face was beet red. 

“Did you sign off on the car, Christian?” Bobby asked softly. 

“Uhh.” Christian shifted awkwardly. His eyes darted off to one side. 

“So when little Jo Harvelle goes up that hill on the top of Maine and goes to put the brakes on…there ain’t a thing gonna happen and that little girl might die because you decided to have one with the boys at lunch time, makin’ you just that little bit careless.” Bobby crowded Christian’s face. “Then you punch a man for calling you out on your bullshit.” His teeth bared. “Mister Campbell, you are fired.” 

“No, wait.” Christian held up his hands. “You can’t…I got bills.” 

“Well I got family, and Jo is like my daughter. So I don’t give a rats hairy arse about your bills. Collect your gear. Get out. Now. You will get your last pay and that’s it. Don’t come crawling to me and don’t go putting me as a reference.” 

 

When Christian drove away, kicking gravel beneath the wheels of his muscle car, Bobby’s hand sat heavy on Dean’s shoulder. 

“You know how to reattach those lines, boy?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Call me Bobby. Get to it. I will check it after.” He pointed Dean toward Christian’s vacated station. 

 

**_“Dean saved Jo’s life that day. She went out the quarry to go parking with her boyfriend. If those brake lines hadn’t been spotted…”_ **

**_Meg just nodded._ **

 

Dean tiredly dropped into his seat in English class next to Castiel. When the teacher started droning, he felt his eyes droop. He was putting extra hours into work at Bobby’s. His dad had been away for a week and he had to put food on the table. 

He felt a light touch on his arm and glanced across. Blue eyes met his. 

“You okay?” Castiel mouthed the words, not wanting to draw the wrath of the dragon lady. 

Dean nodded. 

“Novak, Winchester, get on with it,” said Dragon Lady snapped. 

Dean turned his attention to the worksheet they were filling out. 

 

After classes were over, Dean met Castiel at the gates and walked out with him, heading for home. 

“What time did you finish there?” Castiel eyed Dean with a frown. 

“Ten.” 

“Why’re you working so many hours? You are barely keeping up with that and school.”

“Dad’s not been around for a while. I gotta pay bills and Sammy eats like a horse now. He’s nearly as tall as me.” Dean scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. 

“Hey, what did you do?” Castiel caught hold of his hand and pulled it toward him. The knuckles were swollen and bruised. He scowled. “You weren’t in a fight again were you?” 

“I don’t fight anymore, you know that.” Dean didn’t snatch his hand back though. Castiel’s gentle fingers felt good brushing over his skin. “I just didn’t tighten a bolt properly and…well…” He wiggled his fingers.

Castiel huffed a small sigh. “You work so much. We haven’t hung out in ages.” 

“What? You missing me or something?” Dean tried to joke. 

“Yes,” Castiel replied simply. 

Dean’s breath caught. 

“You are my best friend. And I’m going to college next year. I dislike the thought that we will see one another,” Castiel continued, blithely ignorant that he was still holding Dean’s hand, and that Dean was letting him. 

Dean let out a breath. “Well, I’m not working Sunday. How about we hang out then? Dad’s back in town, and Sammy is heading for a sleepover.” 

“I would like that,” Castiel nodded, then paused. “But no study, right?” 

“No study. Just us. Why don’t we catch burgers at Sliders, then go watch a movie?” 

Castiel gave him one of his brief, brilliant, all too rare smiles. “Yes.” 

Dean took back his hand, and they headed toward home, Dean humming Metallica as they walked. At Castiel’s gate they paused. 

“Dean?” 

“Yeah, Cas?” 

“Is Sunday a date?” 

Dean studied the serious face, the soft lips, the dark hair that was never tidy, the clothing that was always rumpled and his heart turned over. “Would you like it to be?” 

Castiel nodded. “Yes. I believe so.” 

“Then yeah. It’s a date.” Dean was gripping the white posts of the gate. Mustering courage, he leaned in and caught Castiel’s lips in a chaste kiss. The surprised sound from Castiel almost had him drawing back in embarrassment, before he felt Cas’s hands come up to rest on his hips. 

He drew back after a bit. 

“Huh,” he said briefly, his heart thrumming and skin tingling.

Castiel’s brows knit and he looked uncertainly at Dean. “What do you mean ‘huh’?

“I always wondered what that was like.” Dean leaned forward and brushed another kiss on Castiel’s cheek. “It was awesome.” 

The blush on Castiel’s face was perfect. 

“See you Sunday.” Dean headed off to his place, Sammy would be home soon. He glanced back twice, and had to wilfully prevent himself from doing it a third time. He lost. 

Castiel was still waiting at the gate, and before he turned the corner, he waved. 

 

**_“Aww.”_ **

**_“Did you just ‘aww’, Meg?”_ **

**_“Yes. I will rip your lungs out if you say anything.”_ **

**_“Angels don’t rip lungs out.”_ **

**_“Yes they do, I have seen Uriel -”_ **

**_“Anyway,” Hannah interrupted loudly. “Dean was putting the money he was earning at Bobby’s into an account so that he and his brother could live. John did leave them money when he came back, but it didn’t really cover everything. Anything Dean could save, he would put into a special account. He had a battered piece of junk that he was fixing up. A 1967 Chevy Impala that his father had covered over in the back shed.”_ **

**_Meg whistled. “Nice wheels.”_ **

**_“Yes, well, He got it going shortly after his first date with Castiel, and they went out to the quarry to celebrate.”_ **

**_Meg wrinkled her nose. “Not interested in sexy times here, Hannah.”_ **

**_Hannah sighed. “I wasn’t planning on giving you a peep show. There is something important to see here.”_ **

 

Dean spread the blanket on the hood of the Impala and tossed the second up on the hood. The stars sparkled brilliantly overhead. He gripped Castiel’s hand and helped him steady on his way up beside him. 

“Three months and you head to college.” 

“I wish you had applied to U of K, Dean.” 

Dean laughed softly, and a little hollowly. “Ain’t no room in the Winchester budget for college, Cas.”

Castiel’s fingers linked with his and rested on Dean’s chest. “I will be home for Christmas.” 

“I will be here.” 

Their lips met in a sweet, gentle kiss. 

 

**_“Dean never went to college? He seemed bright enough once he started going to classes.”_ **

**_“He was right. He never had enough money for it. Once he left school he took up an apprenticeship with Bobby.”_ **

**_“What about Castiel?”_ **

**_“He went to college.”_ **

**_“He left Dean?”_ **

**_“Yes.”_ **

**_“Damn.”_ **

 

 


	6. Age Eighteen

_“I miss you.”_

“Miss you too, babe. How’re classes?” Dean propped one booted foot over the knee of the other leg, the phone tucked between his jaw and shoulder while he undid the laces. 

_“They keep me busy.”_

“Cool. Well, keep it up. I like bragging about my pre-law boyfriend.” 

_“Dean, you don’t even want to tell your father about us.”_

Dean winced. “I…I know. I’m sorry. I just can’t. Not yet.”

There was silence from the other end of the line. _“It’s alright. I’m just so tired. Talk to you in a few days?”_

Dean’s heart furled in on itself and squeezed. “Yeah, Cas. I love you, okay?” 

_“I know.”_

And Dean knew he was listening to dead air. He set down the receiver, and pressed his thumb against the arch of his brow. Castiel was right. Sam knew. Jo and Ellen knew. Their friends knew. Bobby knew. Even Castiel’s family knew. None of them had a damn problem about it. They were all sworn to silence around John Winchester. 

But Dean couldn’t bring himself to just…tell him.

The phone rang again. 

Probably Sammy needing to be picked up from softball practice. 

“Hello?” 

 

Dean hurried down the hospital hallway. He stopped at a nurses station. 

“Hey, uhh, John Winchester? Is he here?” 

The woman clicked on her computer. 

“Hmm. Yes, sir. But it says here family only.” 

“I’m his son. Dean.”

“Got ID?” 

Dean fumbled for his wallet and handed it over. The woman studied his driver’s licence and nodded. 

“Room 413.” 

Dean pushed back from the desk and followed the room indicators to 413. He stepped in and peered around. It was gloomy. Two beds, one swathed in blue cloth, the other was his father, clothed in limp cotton, an oxygen mask slipped under his nose, and machines quietly recording every heartbeat.

A doctor stood at the foot of his bed consulting a clipboard. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Dean asked, his hands fisted inside his jacket.

“Mister Winchester?” The doctor looked awfully young to be a doctor. 

“Yeah. Dean. Eldest son.” 

“I’m afraid your father suffered an embolic stroke. He has a stent in place, but he was unconscious for quite some time before he was discovered. We won’t know the extent of the damage until he regains consciousness.”

Dean staggered, clutched the bed rail. “He might…he might…die?” 

“I am sorry, it is a possibility.” 

Dean bowed his head. “Okay.” 

“I will be back in a few hours. The nurses will check on him hourly.”

Dean pulled up the arm chair and sat down. He reached out and gripped his father’s hand in his. “Yeah. Okay.” 

And he was left alone with his father. 

 

“Cas. Hey.” Dean spoke as quickly as he could after the beep that indicated he should leave a message. “It’s Dad. He’s in the hospital. A stroke. I’m staying at the hospital at the moment. Sammy is with Ellen and Jo.” He pressed his fingertips to his forehead, rested his elbow on the glass overlooking the parking lot. His vision blurred with tears and his voice broke. “I love you, okay. Just wanted to say that.”

“Who d’ya l..ve.” The question was slurred, barely audible.

Dean hung up the phone. “Dad?” He scrambled toward the bedside and fumbled for his father’s solid hand. “Hey, Dad? You awake?”

“Yes.” 

He hit the nurse’s alert and peered into his father’s face. “Dad. My god.” 

“Look after…” John Winchester reached out blindly. “Look after … your brother.” 

“Yeah, Dad. I know. I will. Of course I will. Sammy will be fine. But you are gonna get better. You will get better. And you can look after him yourself.” 

“Dean.” John gripped his hand with a weak grasp, his fingers clumsy. “I’m sorry. Sorry. Should have done…better.” 

Tears streamed down Dean’s face. “You did fine, Dad. You did just fine. I’m here. Sammy is good. He’s smart. Smart as hell.”

Dean wrapped both his hands around his father’s, he stared down at the contrast between them. Barely any differences. Big, solid hands. Scarred from work. Browned by the sun. Rough. Calloused. He wiped a tear from his cheek. 

“And I have Cas, Dad. Castiel Novak. He’s my boyfriend. I love him.” 

John Winchester’s hand clenched. 

A nurse descended into the room as a trio of machines started beeping with warning. 

He was pushed aside. 

And he watched his father slip away. 

He slid down the wall and wept. 

 

**_“No flippant comments, Meg? Nothing to say?”_ **

**_“No.”_ **

 

It was midnight by the time he got home. He slipped into bed, alone in the house. Sammy was staying with Ellen for the night. He would tell him in the morning. He could only sleep now. Sleep and mourn. 

He curled up on his side in the chill of the bedroom and wept. 

 

A familiar, longed for scent wrapped around him many hours later. It was still dark. The scent was followed by arms. 

“Cas?” 

“I’m here.” 

Dean wriggled around and buried his face in the warmth of Castiel’s chest. “He’s gone.” 

“I know. I know…” Castiel’s arms tightened around him. “I love you, Dean.” 

Dean made a sound like a wounded animal. 

 

**_“Stop.”_ **

**_“You need to understand your charge if you want to help him, Meg.”_ **

**_“I get it. Stop it.”_ **

**_“Very well.”_ **

 

The funeral had been held a week later, and Castiel had stayed. Dean told him that he had to go back to college, he was missing too many classes. Castiel refused for a week, then he eventually was convinced to get back on an aeroplane. 

“See you at Thanksgiving, okay?” Dean said, his voice hoarse from the emotions he was trying to keep squashed down. 

Castiel threaded his fingers through Dean’s. “Its only a few weeks.” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“And you have the meeting with your dad’s lawyer in the morning. Tell me how that goes, okay?” 

“I will.” 

Castiel leaned in, Dean wrapped him in his arms. 

The boarding call for his flight was loud over the speakers.

Castiel made a sound in protest, and pressed his forehead against Dean’s shoulder. Dean dropped a kiss on his temple. 

“Love you,” he whispered. 

“Love you too,” Castiel murmured in reply. 

And reluctantly, they let each other go as the final calls were made.

 

“Good morning, Mister Winchester. Please take a seat.” The lawyer was a grim looking woman in a sharp suit. She pulled a file toward her and opened it up. “My name is Naomi Tapping. I have held a copy of your father’s will for the past five years. I’m not sure if you were aware, but he recently changed the will to include your brother.” 

Dean frowned. “Uhh, sure.” 

“We will go into it in detail and sort the legal requirements, but in summary, the house in Lawrence and his lesser share in Bobby Singer’s business goes to you and Sam, until both of you reach of age to decide whether you wish to keep or sell either interests.”

Dean nodded, expecting as much. 

“I’m not sure if you were aware of the second mortgage on the house?” 

Dean furrowed his brow. “What? What second mortgage?” As far as he was aware, the house had been almost paid off. It had belonged to his mother’s father, who had left the house to Mary on his death. A second mortgage? Why?

“Alright. I will cover that in a moment.” Naomi skimmed down the codicils. “Ahh, here we are. The final bequest was to his son Adam. He wished to leave half the money from his life insurance policy to him.”

Dean went still. “Who the hell is Adam?” 

Naomi looked up, surprise etched on her features. “Your father remarried after your mother’s passing. They had a son. Adam.” 

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur, legal jargon falling on ears that had deafened to anything else. He and Sammy had a brother. A brother. Brother…

 

**_“So he found out Daddy had another family.”_ **

**_“Yes.”_ **

**_“A family he preferred to stay with.”_ **

**_“Oh, he would split his time equally between them.”_ **

**_“What about the other woman? What did she think about the fact his sons lived elsewhere.”_ **

**_Hannah’s mouth pressed thin._ **

**_“Oh. John didn’t tell her.”_ **

**_“No. Kate had no idea. She is a good woman.”_ **

**_“What did Dean do?”_ **

**_“You’ll see.”_ **

 

Dean stared blankly at the bank letter that requested Dean come in for a meeting at his soonest convenience to discuss the mortgage that John had taken out on the house. Dean winced. There was no indication as to what John had used the money for. He rubbed the back of his neck. 

He heard Sammy clattering down the stairs. 

“Hey, Sammy, what’s up?” _We have a brother._

“Is it okay if I go hang out with the guys? We want to play some basketball at the park.” 

“Sure. Need a lift?” _Dad kept him a secret._

“Nah. Can I call you later? Get a lift home?” 

“Yeah. Sure. Make good choices.” _His name is Adam._

“Seeya.” 

Dean dropped his head into his hands. Why hadn’t their father told them about Kate Milligan and her son. Did he not want them near them? Dean’s heart ached. Maybe he knew about how often Dean got into trouble. Maybe he didn’t want that bad influence rubbing off on him. 

He picked up his phone. He wanted to call Cas. Wanted to snarl and rant. Wanted his quiet, soothing voice to calm him. But he couldn’t. Cas was heading into exams. He didn’t need Dean’s troubles distracting him. 

 

Dean straightened his tie and smoothed the non-existent wrinkles from the well fitted charcoal suit he had worn to the funeral. The only suit he owned. He entered the bank. 

“Hi. I have an appointment with Mr Crowley? Dean Winchester.” 

The immaculately dressed woman studied him for a moment, gave him a winsome smile, and picked up her phone. 

“Mr Crowley? Your nine o’clock is here.” She hung up and gestured to the seating. “Wait right there, Mr Crowley will be with you as soon as possible.” 

Dean waited for twenty minutes before a man in an expensive suit, trimmed beard and shark like eyes gestured for him to follow. In the office, he held out his hand. 

“Fergus Crowley. Awfully sorry to hear about the death of your father, Dean. Let’s hope we can clear all this up as soon as possible.”

Dean shook the guy’s hand and sat down in a small bucket chair. 

Crowley pulled a manila file toward him and opened it up. 

“I’m sure you are aware by now that your father took out a second mortgage on your house. Now, with repayments, this is what he was giving us monthly…at least up until the past four months.” 

He slid a sheet of paper toward Dean. His heart fell through to his gut. The amount was only just under what he earned in a month as a mechanic at Bobby’s. Silently, he looked at the figures then up at Crowley. The man was smiling, his hands linked under his chin. 

“Now, I understand that you are going through quite the rough patch at the moment, but as the house, as an asset, is now under your name, and your brother’s, I’m afraid you are responsible for these repayments.”

Dean rubbed his palm over the back of his neck. “I don’t have this kind of money, Mister Crowley. I’m a mechanic.”

Crowley pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I see. What about the life insurance? Your father was paying that regularly?” 

“Yeah.” Dean splayed his hands on the paper in front of him. “It will cover some of the debts he left behind. But half goes to his other son in… in… Minnesota.” 

Crowley arched his brows. “I didn’t know he had another boy. Well, now that’s quite the news. I’m beginning to understand your situation. Hmm. Well, perhaps we can … extend the loan a little, assuming you wish to keep living in that house? And you will pick up those payments?” 

Dean chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. “Yeah. Yeah, I want to keep living there. I will sort out the payments.”

“Excellent. Let’s get the paperwork done so you can get on your way.” 

 

Dean took a slow breath and tipped his head up to the sky. He had to come up with several thousand dollars in four weeks. How the hell was he going to do that?

He stopped next to Baby and stared down at the keys in his hand. 

 

“I have to sell my car.” Dean told Bobby in as matter-of-fact a way as he could, leaning down on the office desk, completing paperwork.

“Why the sam hill would you wanna do that, boy?” Bobby leaned back in his chair and scratched his bearded face. 

Dean shrugged. “Need to make mortgage payment. So I gotta scrape together the cash or the bank will toss us on our arse. Dad hadn’t paid the bill for a few months.” 

Bobby narrowed his eyes. “Didn’t your Daddy leave you any money?” 

Dean grimaced. “Some. Yeah. Not enough though.”

“But he had a decent enough life insurance?”

Dean shrugged again. “Half goes to his other family in Minnesota.” 

Bobby went silent and grim. 

“Look, can you put the Impala up for sale or not?” 

“Yeah. Sure,” Bobby said gruffly. “Had a few folks askin’ questions in the past.” 

 

“Where’s Baby?” Sam asked, coming home from school, dumping his bag on the floor of the old pickup Bobby had made him take from the auto yard. 

“Sold it.” 

Sammy stared at him, but he couldn’t meet those curious hazel eyes. “What’s goin’ on?” 

“Needed the money, didn’t need the car.” 

“Figured that. What’s goin’ on you aren’t telling me about?”

Dean pulled out of the school parking lot, with a shudder of gear changes and a belch of smoke from the ancient tailpipe.

“Dean, come on. I’m not a kid anymore. I know something is going on.” 

Dean huffed a sigh. “Yeah. Alright. When we get home, alright?”

Sam sat back, satisfied. 

 

**_“He sold his car? He loved that car.”_ **

**_“Dean loved his brother more and wanted to be sure he had a roof over his head.”_ **

**_Meg stared down at her hands and nodded._ **

**_“Anyway, time went on. Dean worked very long hours at the garage. He got to see Castiel at Thanksgiving and again at Christmas. The drove up to Minnesota and met Adam and his mother. They were as stunned as Sam and Dean about their existence. Apparently, John had taken a mortgage out on the house to pay for Adam to go to a private school up there. How could Dean deny him that? Sam was angry for a long while, but it was hardly Adam’s fault. So for a while, things were alright.”_ **

**_“I’m guessing from your tone that things went badly?”_ **

**_“Not…badly. But life does have a way of throwing a curveball once in a while.”_ **

 

 


	7. Age Twenty One

Dean grabbed the mail from the letterbox and headed into the house. He dumped the pile on the counter and toed his boots off with a relieved sigh. His phone beeped and he peered at the message. He smiled.

_Last set of exams today. Can’t wait to see you. XX_

Dean rapid typed his reply. 

_I will pick you up at the airport. 2pm right?_

_Yes._

_C U then._

_< 3_

Dean tilted his head at that last one. What was <3? Then he chuckled. Oh. A heart. Cas was such a sap. 

Without looking, he picked up the first letter in the pile and removed the contents, several pages stapled together. 

He read the first line. 

Then read the first line again. 

“Sam!?” he shouted. 

“What?” Came the reply from loungeroom. The kid had sprouted up to six five or thereabouts. Dean was just grateful he had stopped growing. 

“Get in here.” 

“I haven’t done anything.” Sam entered the kitchen scowling. 

“What’s this?” Dean held out the letter from Stanford. 

Sam shrugged. “I dunno.” 

“Read it.” 

Sam’s eyes skimmed the first line of text. Dean watched his face carefully. The excitement and happiness that bloomed, that was quickly smothered by an impassive expression. 

“So? I got in.” 

“You got into Stanford!” 

“I can’t go, Dean,” Sam protested. 

“You are going,” Dean replied, flatly.

“I can’t just leave. We don’t have the money for me to go there. And I can’t leave you here still holding the can for Dad’s debts.” 

Dean studied his brother thoughtfully. He stood up. He walked over to a drawers on the old kitchen cupboard that held their mismatched assortment of plates and cups. From the depths, he pulled out a little bank book. Coming back to Sam, he held it out. 

Sam looked at the little blue book, dwarfed by his hands. He opened it up. Turned page after page or near constant deposits. The amount written on the last page had his eyes widening in surprise. 

“Dean, what is this?” 

“College fund. Well…sort of. Hoping you can supplement with scholarships and whatever. But that should get you through a couple years living in California.” 

Sam fumbled with it and held it back out. “No. Dean. Come on. This is your life savings, right?” 

Dean clenched his jaw. “It’s your college fund, kid. Always was meant to be.” 

Sam opened the first pages. They were from when Dean was fifteen. Just started working with Bobby. It was only a few dollars. 

“Why the hell didn’t you use this when we got in trouble a couple years back? Why did you sell your car? You could have used this!” 

“No. I couldn’t. This is your future, Sammy.” 

“How…” Sam stared down dumbly, and looked back up again. Then without warning, he fiercely wrapped Dean in a hug, dwarfing his elder brother. 

“Hrmmmphh,” Dean managed, patting Sam awkwardly on the back. “Need to breathe, Sammy.” 

“Shit. Sorry.” Sam stepped back and stared down at the book again. 

“Better go fill out the paperwork.” 

After Sam left, Dean sank down at the table. He tugged out the next letter from the bank and his expression turned grim. He glanced at the stairs where Sam had gone. He would manage. He always had. He had to look out for Sammy. That’s what he had promised his dad. And Dean Winchester didn’t forget his promises. 

 

**_“He had been saving up so Sam could go to college?”_ **

**_“Not at first. First it was emergency funds if their father never came back. Then as he got older, and realised how smart his younger brother really was, he started saving for his future. And he never touched it.”_ **

**_“That’s …That’s pretty decent of him.”_ **

**_“It wasn’t all bad. Castiel came home after finishing his undergraduate degree at the University of Illinois.”_ **

 

A couple days later, Castiel was sprawled with Dean on the couch, lying back against his chest while they watched a movie. Their hands were linked. Dean had his eyes half closed in weariness. 

“I’m transferring to the University of Kansas Law School next year,” Castiel said abruptly.

Dean opened his eyes. “What?” 

“It’s a good school. And I wish to be here with you. The last three years have been, frankly, the worst of my life.” 

“Cas…” Dean pressed his lips against the top of Castiel’s messy hair. “God, Cas…” 

“I brought all my stuff home. Those extra suitcases you bitched about lifting contained everything. So I would very much like to move in here, please. I have looked in to scholarships, and there are several I can apply for, including a housing subsidy.” 

Dean’s mouth dropped open in surprise, a small smile teasing at the corner of his lips. “Are you askin’ me if you can move in with me?” 

Castiel frowned. “I thought I made that clear. Did I not?” 

Dean smiled brilliantly. “God yes. Please move in. Please. Yes. Absolutely yes.” 

“My family will be relieved, frankly. It was my father’s suggestion to transfer here. And he knows of someone who needs a part time paralegal, so I can work while I’m studying.” 

 


	8. Age Twenty Four

Dean sat beside Castiel while they watched the bride and groom dance. His arm was slung over the back of Castiel’s chair and their hands were linked over Dean’s thigh. 

“I didn’t know Bobby could dance like that,” Castiel said, tilting his head to watch the spectacle. 

“I think Ellen dragged him to dance lessons.” 

The DJ was predictably obnoxious as the MC, and sang out that the maid of honor, Jo Harvelle, now had to dance with the best man, Dean Winchester. Dean stood, dropped a kiss on Castiel’s temple and headed out to the dance floor. He and Jo cut a pretty decent rug themselves. 

The rest of the bridal party were announced. Castiel circled the floor solemnly with an older woman, one of Ellen’s friends. They conversed politely until the end of the song and Dean deposited Jo with her boyfriend and went looking for Castiel. 

They danced together, drawing some curious glances from strangers. 

When the newlyweds took off for home, Jo headed out with her boyfriend and Dean and Cas started the short walk home.

They held hands after Cas had loosened his bow tie. It hung about his neck in two dark ribbons. Dean’s was still neatly done up, his suit barely rumpled while somehow Cas managed to look like he had spent a night sleeping on the floor. Dean grinned. His gorgeous boyfriend always looked like he had rolled out of bed fully dressed. And he realised, not for the first time, that he wanted to spend the rest of his damn life with the man. 

“Cas?” 

“Hmm?” Castiel seemed lost in thought. 

“Do you wanna marry me?” The words tumbled out before his brain thought the better of it.

“Yes,” Castiel replied matter of factly. 

Dean’s feet just stopped. It took a moment for Castiel to realise Dean wasn’t walking beside him when his arm stretched out and he spun to face him. Even in the moonlight, his eyes were bright.

“Did you hear what I just said?” Dean asked softly. 

Castiel tilted his head. “Yes, Dean. And I said yes.” 

Dean swallowed. “Cas?” He tugged him forward. Castiel went willingly. 

“Yes, Dean?” 

“Are we really getting married?” 

Castiel laughed then, a low rumbling sound. “Silly man. As if it were ever in question.” 

 

**_“Cute.”_ **

**_“Yes. Castiel was working as a lawyer in Lawrence at this point. Dean was taking on more responsibility at the autoshop. Every few months he would send Sam more money, but he was getting steadily ahead, saving money. Sam was coming home for the summer to work, and Dean planned to take Castiel away on a holiday. He had never travelled outside America, and he had always wanted to go to Italy.”_ **

**_“I sense a but…”_ **

**_“There is. There comes the very big bump that gets us to where we are now.”_ **

**_“He never gets to Italy does he?”_ **

**_“Keep watching.”_ **

 

 


	9. Age Twenty Six

Dean fidgeted with his cufflinks, nervously tugging them into place. Castiel approached the mirror, a frown on his face as he glared down at the bowtie. 

“Dean? Help?” He slid his arms around Dean’s waist and rested his chin on his shoulder. “You look good. Got a date?” 

“Yeah. With some hottie. Big shot lawyer. Way out of my league.” Dean curved his palms over Castiel’s and leaned back against his chest. “What do you think? Do I have a shot?” 

“Yeah.” Castiel dropped a kiss into his neck, a move that causes a flush to colour Dean’s face, even after all these years of similar gestures. “I think you have a real good shot. Because I hear under that smokin’ exterior, he’s pretty much a complete dork.” 

Dean grinned. “Need help with that bowtie?” 

“I hate these infernal things. Couldn’t you have just picked an ordinary tie?” 

“Nope.” Dean turned around in Castiel’s arms, and he carefully folded and tucked the silvery grey fabric into neat loops. “Besides, you can’t get one of them tied properly either.” 

Castiel scowled. “I’m not that bad.” 

Dean chuckled and leaning forward, he kissed Castiel briefly. “Ready?” 

“Very.” 

 

“I feel like I have known you forever. You changed my life when I was fifteen. I didn’t want to disappoint you, and you have never once disappointed me. I love you, Castiel Novak, and the thought of becoming your husband fills me with happiness. I am yours.” 

Dean stared down at Castiel’s face, at the myriad of emotions that stormed through his expressive eyes, at the love he saw in them, and he fell in love all over again. 

“Dean Winchester, the first time we met, you were kind of an ass but then so was I. You saved my soul when we met for the second time when you became my best friend. I didn’t realise that someone like you could want someone like me. But when you remained steadfast, despite the distances between us over the years, I realised I could believe in love. Thank you for teaching me how to love.” 

Ellen dabbed at her tears with a handkerchief. Bobby blew his nose noisily. Sam clutched the hand of his girlfriend, Jess and Jo buried her face in her boyfriend’s arm. 

They rest of the vows were the standard ‘do you’s?’ and subsequent ‘yes’s’ before they were pronounced married, Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak. 

The rest of the night ended with a huge party, classic rock and a huge meal. Drunken embraces were exchanged, the last between Dean and Sam. 

“Proud of you,” Sam muttered into Dean’s ear, his eyes suspiciously bright. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean just hugged tighter. 

“No. Really. I think you are awesome.” 

Dean cleared his throat, his face now bright red. “Geez, Sam.” 

“Shut up and listen.” Sam drew back a little, and glared at his brother. “I appreciate everything. Everything. You deserve this happiness.” 

“Well, shit. Thanks, Sammy.” 

Sam scowled. “Aww, c’mon man, I’m twenty years old, you don’t think you can start calling me ‘Sam’?”

“Not a chance.” Dean reached up and ruffled Sam’s hair, a moment before he was dragged off by Ellen for a dance.

It was all perfect.

 

The phone ringing had Dean snorting awake. Three days into their self imposed honeymoon where they did nothing for five days but eat, sleep, make love and watch movies. Mostly in bed. This was way too early. Castiel muttered a protest, burrowing down into the covers, his face crushed into his pillow. 

“Hello? Is that Mister Winchester?” 

“Huh? D’ya know what time it is?” He peered at the bedside clock. 6am. 

_“Sorry, sir. My name is Angus Walters, I’m a investigator with the Lawrence Police Department.”_

Dean sat up straighter. “What?” 

Castiel, hearing the change in Dean’s tone, propped himself up on his elbows and peered up and Dean. 

_“I’m afraid that there was a fire at Singer’s Auto Mechanics. The building has been destroyed.”_

“Is Bobby alright? Was anyone hurt?” 

Castiel sat up then, and wrapped his arm around Dean’s back.

_“No one was found on site, Mister Winchester. The fire occurred at 11pm, and was extinguished at 2:30am.”_

“Why wasn’t I notified?” 

_“I’m sorry, sir. We tried getting hold of Mister Singer first, but after several attempts it was established he wasn’t home.”_

“No, they are away at the moment.” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “Damn it. Can I come down there to the site?” 

_“Yes sir, I’m heading down there now. This will be a good opportunity to discuss particulars.”_

“Okay. I will be there in thirty.” Dean hung up. He slumped back on the bed and his voice was raw. “The garage burnt down. It’s all gone.”

Castiel leaned over and pressed his lips to Dean’s temple. “I’m sorry. What can I do?” 

“You’re doing it.” He took comfort from Castiel’s embrace and sighed. “I have to get down there.” 

“Want me to come?” Castiel brushed his thumb across the worry lines now deepened on Dean’s brow. 

“No.” Dean kissed him briefly before scrambling regretfully out of bed. “Wait. You can do something. You filed the insurance records, right?” 

Castiel nodded. “In the office. Yes.”

“Can you dig them out for me while I’m gone?” 

“Certainly.” Castiel got out of bed, delightfully naked. In any other circumstances, Dean might have tumbled him back into bed. But as it was, he headed for the bathroom. It was going to be a very long day. 

 

“The point of origin looks to be that workbench on the far wall.” 

The charred remains of the brand new workbench were like a skeleton of it’s original structure. The workshop was gutted. The roof collapsed. A section of the office remained, the big filing cabinet buckling under the weight of a collapsed wall. Dean had his hands in his pockets, staring at the detritus of the fire. 

“We just had that installed last month. It was cleared by the electrician and the insurance company approved the clearance.” Dean was barely able to comprehend the damage. His livelihood had, literally, gone up in smoke. With Bobby working part time, and in the office much of that, it was left to Dean and their other mechanic, Garth, to do the heavy lifting. 

Detective Walters just nodded. “It does appear to be faulty wiring work. No evidence of any accelerant used. However, once the fire began…” He waved vaguely. “I’m sorry, Mister Winchester, the building was old. I understand it was structurally sound, but unfortunately, the fire has caused too much damage. It will likely be condemned. This will need to be confirmed by the Buildings Commission, but I wanted to tell you now.” 

Dean nodded numbly. 

 

**_“That sucks.”_ **

**_“When Bobby got back, he had a very tough meeting with Dean. He didn’t want to rebuild with his share of the money. He wanted to retire. Dean couldn’t refuse him that. How could he? So he went back to Crowley.”_ **

**_“That slime.”_ **

**_“Yes. Rather.”_ **

 

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Crowley gave him a sympathetic look. “But I can’t give you a loan to rebuild. There is still too much owing on the house. And while I appreciate that your husband’s future prospects for income are good, right now, he is still a junior partner in a small firm in Lawrence. I’m afraid you are too much of a risky bet. If you had more savings behind you, I could present your case, but as it stands, I’m afraid it just isn’t possible.”

Dean stood, his expression grim. “I understand. Thank you for looking at my application.” 

They shook hands and Dean headed out to the chilly streets. Christmas decorations swung in the breeze, but Dean wasn’t quite feeling the cheer this year.

He couldn’t go back to Cas with this. 

Cas.

Who wanted to open up his own practice. 

He couldn’t load him with this. 

He had job offers at a couple of companies. But he didn’t want to work for them. He wanted ‘Singer’s’ back.

 

“You will be miserable there,” Castiel said matter-of-factly. He had set down his glasses on top of the books he was reading, put aside the notepad and pen, and had his full attention for his husband. 

“It’s just for a short time. Twelve months, maybe.” Dean sat down in the chair next to him.

“I could take that job in Kansas City?” Castiel ventured.

Dean reached out and curved his palm over Castiel’s cheek “No. You love your job here.” 

Castiel hesitated briefly. “Yes.” 

“We will be alright.”

 

**_“That’s not really…a bump.”_ **

**_“You aren’t paying attention, Meg. What drives Dean Winchester?”_ **

**_“Um.”_ **

**_“Come on, Meg. You are going to have to stand face to face with him in a matter of moments.”_ **

**_“Family.”_ **

**_“Precisely.”_ **

**_“His weakness.”_ **

**_“His weakness. And his strength.”_ **

 


	10. Age Twenty Nine

The crying woke Dean first. He moaned and buried his face in his pillow. 

“Want me to go?” Came the mumble from beside him. 

“Mrf. No. I got it.” Dean leaned over, rubbed the scruff of his beard against Castiel’s bare back, kissing his shoulder, all to a low growl, and writhe of protest. 

Dean padded down the hallway to their daughter’s room. He opened the door and headed in. Claire was splayed out on her back with wide, wet eyes staring up at him woefully.  

“Hey, beautiful girl.” He leaned down and picked her up. “Feeling lonely?” 

She immediately chomped his shoulder with a gummy chew.

“Hungry it is. Come on, kid. I got this.” 

Father and daughter headed downstairs, daughter burbling and patting his face with little starfish hands. 

He prepared the formula after plonking her in a little seat on the bench top that kind of clamped her into place. He heated the stuff and, after testing it, he picked her up and upended the bottle into her mouth. She sucked greedily, waving her hands in happiness. 

He turned on the lamp and lowered himself into the armchair in the lounge room. His daughter was a light weight in his arms and as she fed, he slowly used his bare toes to set the chair into a slow rock. 

The Christmas tree gleamed in the low light, the angel on top very much not his choice. But as a gift from Castiel’s parents, he couldn’t very well refuse since they were all coming to lunch that day. It looked almost alive, staring down at him with that obnoxious, benevolent stare. Creeped him the hell out. 

But, Chuck and Becky Novak were good people. They had always welcomed Dean into their family and had been the first to start harassing Cas as to when he was going to make an ‘honest man’ out of Dean. It would be cute if it weren’t so disconcerting. 

And they adored their granddaughter, Claire. 

Doted on her. 

And Dean was totally on board with that. 

Claire was replete. Her little rosebud mouth was open and she snored like her father, Dean observed fondly. His rough forefinger traced her dark, delicate eyebrows and her nose wrinkled in protest. She was perfect. 

His attention was drawn by Castiel, bare chested and scrubbing the hollow of his eyes with the heel of his hand. “You didn’t come back to bed. Everything okay?” 

“Just basking, angel.” Dean smiled up at his husband. 

Castiel propped one elbow on the back of Dean’s chair and leaned down. He pressed his finger into Claire’s hand and she unconsciously curled her tiny fist around his digit. 

Castiel kissed Dean’s temple. “Have to work late tomorrow?”

Dean’s face fell. “Yes.” 

“It’s Christmas Eve.” 

Dean’s eyes shuttered. This was an old conversation. “I know.”

“Zachariah won’t let you go a little early?” 

Dean closed his suddenly stinging eyes. He was paying for that long ago day when he humiliated Zachariah for Castiel’s sake. Zachariah had gleefully made Dean’s life hell for the past three years. 

“I will be home when I can.” 

Castiel pushed himself upright. “Okay.” 

“Cas…” Dean reached up and gripped Castiel’s forearm. 

Castiel brushed his thumb over Dean’s knuckles. “It’s okay, Dean. I understand.” Castiel walked away and headed back upstairs.

Dean dropped his gaze to Claire. She slept on, despite the soft disagreement between her parents. 

 

“Dean Winchester, are you in here?” 

Dean rolled out from beneath the late model Ford he was fixing and stared up at Zachariah, the man who had become his boss last year when he bought out the business. 

“Yeah?” Dean scrambled upright, his knees aching briefly. 

“Can you come into my office please?” 

 

Several minutes later, Dean stormed from the shop, slammed into his car and peeled out of the lot.

 

**_“That guy fired him?”_ **

**_“Yes.”_ **

**_“On Christmas Eve too? That’s …harsh.”_ **

**_“Yeah.”_ **

 

Dean pulled the car into park overlooking the reservoir. It was glittering brightly in the moonlight, and when he stopped the engine, the interior instantly chilled. 

He got out, the door of the ancient Ford creaking in protest. He sighed and made his way to the bonnet of the vehicle and levered himself up. His phone buzzed in his jacket. He ignored it. It buzzed again. He put his head in his hands. 

When it buzzed a third time, he fetched the device out of his pocket and stared at the screen. He cursed and hit redial. Castiel had called three times and left four messages.

“Cas? What’s wrong?” Dean demanded as soon as Castiel answered. 

_“It’s Claire. She is running a temperature. I’m taking her to the hospital. Can you meet us there as soon as possible?”_

“Yes. Yeah. Definitely. I’m leaving now.” 

_“Aren’t you still at work?”_

“Not exactly. I will talk about it later.” Dean swallowed the lump in his throat. 

Castiel was silent on the other end of the phone. _“Alright.”_

Dean hung up, squeezing his hand around his phone. 

“I can’t do this anymore. I’m so tired. Nothing has worked the way I expected it. I just wish…” His weary hand scruffed hair that was usually precisely combed. “I wish I didn’t even exist. Everyone would be better off if I didn’t exist.”

 

**_“Good to go then, Meg?”_ **

**_“Yeah. Yeah, I got just the thing.”_ **

 

The shriek drew Dean from his reverie. The sound of a splash and then a cry for help, once, twice and a third time. Dean scrambled off the Ford and slipped and slid down toward the edge of the reservoir. 

A head bobbed in the frigid water, a pale arm waving. 

“Help me! Please!” 

Without thinking, Dean yanked off his jacket, dumped his keys and dove in.  

****

 


	11. Realisations

“What the hell were you doing in there?” Dean asked, his teeth chattering as he helped the young woman scramble up the slippery bank. 

“I slipped and fell in.” The woman was shivering. Dean picked up his coat from the ground and dropped it over her shoulders. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Meg.” 

“I’m Dean. Come on, get in my car. I will turn on the heater. Where is your car?” 

“In town,” Meg said innocently, her eyes big and wide. “I was just walking along the bridge.” 

“Right. Sure.” Dean nodded. 

She gave him an address which wasn’t far from where his old garage used to be. He hadn’t driven past it in months. 

 

Dean slammed on the brakes. 

Meg reached out to steady herself. 

“Something wrong?” she asked. 

“I … I don’t…” Dean jumped down from the truck and stood in front of the cobwebbed old building, that wasn’t razed to the ground. It stood dark and dreary, and a light was still on inside. 

Dean’s hand trembled as he reached out to push open the front door. 

Bobby sat at a table, his head in his hands, a half empty bottle of whiskey on the table at his elbow, fingers clutching a smeared old jam jar that served as his glass. 

“Bobby? What’s wrong? Where’s Ellen?” 

Bobby jerked upright, his florid face swollen and puffy, his beard unkempt. “Who the hell are you?” He stood upright, barely, one hand propping himself upright. 

“It’s Dean, Bobby.”

“I don’t know no Dean. Get the hell out of here before I call the cops.” 

“Whoa, wait!” Dean held up his hands, and peered around, “Where is Ellen?” 

“Who the hell is Ellen?” Bobby snarled, slamming the glass down. 

“Ellen Harvelle?” 

Bobby’s face went grey. “What’re you playin’ at, boy?” 

“I’m not playing. Honest.” Dean stared wildly around him. _What the hell was going on?_

“Get out of here! Git!” Bobby threw the glass at him. Dean ducked, sprayed with cheap whiskey. “I’m callin’ the cops!” He wavered again. 

Dean got. 

He sat in the driver’s seat of his car and stared out of the windshield, eyes wild. “What the hell is going on?” 

“You got your wish, Dean Winchester.” 

He had all but forgotten the girl sitting next to him. He looked at her, and was startled. She wasn’t wet any more. His jacket was folded on the seat between them. Her hair was in spiralling coils, dry spiralling coils. 

“What is this? Who the hell are you?” 

“I’m Meg. I’m …almost an angel. It’s a little complicated. You prayed and they sent me to answer your prayer.” She smiled brightly at him. “You wished you hadn’t been born, so I granted your wish.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. That’s not possible,” Dean scoffed, his hands tight on the steering wheel. He fumbled his phone out of the pocket of his jacket. He brought up his contacts list and stopped. 

“Ellen isn’t in your contacts list any more, Dean. She never came to get you from your father’s house, because you weren’t there.” 

“But Sammy still was,” Dean protested.

Meg remained silent. 

“Dammit. Where is Jo?” Dean stared at his empty friends list. 

“Jo’s dead, Dean. You weren’t there to notice that Bobby’s mechanic hadn’t reattached her brake lines. She and her boyfriend were killed when they came off the bridge over the reservoir. Her brakes failed.” 

Dean went very still. “No.” He shook his head. “No. That’s impossible.” 

Meg snapped her fingers, then held out his coat. “Here. You might want to put this on.” 

Dean grabbed the warm canvas coat and shrugged into it as he studied his new surroundings. He was disoriented by the arrival in the cemetery. He stumbled after Meg, entirely too confused to protest that it wasn’t real.

She paused in front of a headstone, dappled grey by the weather. 

 

_Our darling Jo_

_A light in the world extinguished too soon_

 

_10/151978-12/10/1995_

 

Dean stuffed his fist into his mouth and bit down hard. 

“Jo,” he whispered and looked up at Meg. “That’s why Bobby is drinking?” 

“He blamed himself. Ellen Harvelle still lives next door to what was once your parent’s place. She cut all ties with her friends, and has become bitter.” 

Dean stared up at the clear skies. “I see.” 

“Come on. Let’s keep going,” Meg said cheerily. “I want to get you all caught up with your new life.” She took a few steps away. 

Dean had out his phone again and was dialling a number he knew by heart. 

_I’m sorry. The service you are trying to reach is not connected._

He scowled, certain he had got the number right. He had just spoken to Cas fifteen minutes ago.

“Do you remember when you were six, Dean?” 

“What?” Dean didn’t even look up, concentrating fiercely on retyping Castiel’s number with chilled fingers. 

“There was a house fire. Your father was away and your mother had been killed during a home invasion.” 

Dean jerked his head up then. “Sammy…”

Meg nodded. “Yes. Sadly he perished in the fire. You weren’t there to get him out.” She nodded at a headstone. 

Dean walked numbly to the graveside. 

 

_In Loving Memory_

_Sam Winchester_

_Born 5/2/1983_

_Died 9/15/1985_

 

Tears welled and ran down his cheeks. 

He stared down at his phone again. He hit redial. 

_I’m sorry. The service you are trying to reach is not connected._

Meg was looking at him in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Dean. But Castiel Novak never became your husband. The night you stopped those three bullies from hurting him never happened.” 

“Where is Cas? And Claire?” 

“Without Castiel, there is no Claire.” 

“No.” Dean’s protest was fierce, he broke into a run. Leaving Meg in the cemetery, he started running. His home was ten blocks from the church. He ran hard, his heart slamming into his chest. 

 

He stood in front of his house. Although it now, clearly, wasn’t. This was a dump. Windows were broken. The door hung on it’s hinges. Several shingles were missing and the walls were stained with damp. 

The front walk was overgrown with weeds, and the gate was rusted. He curled his fingers into the wire until the pain stopped him. 

“Cas.” He said hoarsely. 

“He works at the town library.” Meg’s voice startled him and he whirled on her. 

Dean broke into a run again. 

Meg sighed her irritation. 

 

Dean shoved his way into the library. 

He scanned the looming shelves and the dark unmanned counter. He strode in, moving quickly along the stacks. He almost walked past the man shelving books. He skidded to a halt and then approached hurriedly. 

“Cas?” 

The man stared at him owlishly, fear lighting his features. He took a hurried step back. 

“Yes?” 

“Cas, it’s me.” Dean pressed his hand to his own chest, stepping forward again. _Why was he afraid?_ Those incredible, loved blue eyes held nothing but fear in them. 

“I don’t know you.” Castiel shook his head. “If I can’t help you find a book, perhaps you should leave.” 

“Cas. We have known each other since we were fifteen.” 

Castiel swallowed nervously. “I can assure you, I have no clue who you are. Please leave before I contact the police.” 

Dean reached out for him. “Cas.” 

Castiel ran from him, heading along the stacks with a fleetness of foot that surprised him. 

 

“I’m sorry, Dean. Those boys beat up Castiel without your intervention. You are, or rather ‘were’, a prominent figure in that school and eventually the town. Because of your example with Castiel, many other students felt comfortable with their sexuality and grew into tolerant adults. That never happened. Castiel has never come out, and never found someone to love him the way you did.” Meg smiled and tilted her head on one side. “I said this was a little complicated.” 

“Why would you do this?” Dean rasped, clenching his hands into fists. 

“You asked for it, Dean.” Meg said, her voice a little hard. “Your father drank himself to death a year after Sam and your mother died. Sam is a human rights lawyer, after he decided that contracts law wasn’t for him. Should I even begin to tell you about the people who are no longer alive because you weren’t here to save your brother?” 

Dean pressed the heel of his palms to his eye sockets. 

Meg’s scent was ozone and fresh green grass as she approached and fisted a hand in his jacket and dragged him nose to nose.

“The impact of our decisions are uncounted, Dean Winchester. That you are alive has meant so many others could lead a good life themselves. If you feel that you have been unable to live the life you thought you should have had …well…” She shook him with a sudden sharp snap. “…Snap the hell out of it. Stop being such a whiney ass. Your life is perfect just the way it is and not a single person in it is better off because you aren’t there.” 

Dean wriggled in her grasp. “I thought angels were meant to be kind. And serene.” He scowled. 

Meg laughed delightfully. “Wait until you get a load of Michael. There is a whole pissed off bunch of angelic fury right there. And Gabriel. Don’t get me started on him.” 

Dean was watching her with an open mouth, his hand wrapped around her wrist. 

“Right.” Meg tapped her forehead. “Stay on track. Sorry.” She leaned forward again. “So, how are we feeling about that little prayer?” 

“I take it back,” he whispered.

“Sorry?” Meg cupped a hand behind her ear. 

“I take it back,” Dean repeated in a louder voice. “All of it. I want Jo back. And Bobby and Ellen. And Sammy alive. I want my family back. I want Cas. And Claire.” 

Meg patted him gently on the head. “Good little mortal. Close your eyes, this won’t hurt a bit.” 

 

Dean felt her grip ease and when he opened his eyes, he was alone, seated on the bonnet of his car. His beat up old rust bucket car that had taken the place of the Impala all those years ago. 

He patted it affectionately and leapt down. 

Cas! 

He lifted the phone clutched in his hand up to his face. 

Yes! He was in his friends list. He nearly hit call, but decided no, no he wouldn’t. He would go to the hospital. He needed his family. Dean started up the truck and put it into reverse. 

 

“Hi. I’m Claire Novak-Winchester’s father? Dean Winchester?” Dean asked at the nurses station. 

“Room sixteen.” The woman said without even looking up. 

Dean hurried to the room and stood in the doorway, taking in the scene with a choking lump in his throat. 

Castiel was seated beside their daughter’s tiny bed, slowly bathing her skin with a damn cloth that he saturated, wrung out, and swiped it over her chubby little neck. Dean stepped in, rested his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. 

“How is she?” 

“Doing much better already.” Castiel reached up, and gripped his hand. “They gave her something to bring the fever down.” 

Dean leaned down and pressed a kiss into the top of his head. “God, I love you, Cas.” 

Castiel leaned back in the chair and smiled up at him. “I love you too, Dean.” 

Dean dragged over another chair and sitting next to Castiel, both men held onto to each other while they sat watch over their daughter. 

 

Dean carefully extracted Claire from her car seat in the back of Castiel’s car. She was drowsy and lolled her head against Dean’s shoulder. Castiel hefted her change bag. 

Dean turned and frowned at the strange car in their drive way. 

“Who’s is that?” He jerked his chin toward the vehicle. 

Castiel tilted his head. “I’m not sure. It’s a hire car though. Come on.” 

Dean’s mouth opened in shock when he saw the tall young man unfold his lanky frame from one of their deck chairs. 

“Sammy?” 

“Hey, big brother. Merry Christmas. Thought I would surprise you.” 

“Let me take her,” Castiel murmured, wrapping his elegant hands around their daughter. Dean carefully handed her over before reaching out for his brother and folding him in a strong embrace. 

“Sammy, it’s so good to see you,” he murmured into Sam’s shoulder. 

“You too, Dean. You still got my old room?” 

“Yeah. You had better stay.” Dean stepped back, still gripping the lapels of Sam’s suit. “I missed you, you big moose.” 

Sam grinned. “Now let me have a hold of my niece.” He smiled at Castiel. “Hey, Cas.” 

“Hello, Sam.” Castiel let Sam take Claire. Their little girl instantly glommed onto her tall uncle and slobbered over his suit. 

“Has it been delivered?” Sam asked excitedly. 

“Yes. It arrived this afternoon.” Castiel nodded seriously. 

“Has what been delivered?” 

Sam grinned. “Your Christmas present.” 

Dean looked bemused. “Well, it can wait until tomorrow.” 

Sam wrapped his long arm over Dean’s shoulder, his niece propped on the other side. “Trust me when I say there is no way in hell I can wait another day.” 

He nodded at Castiel who headed for the garage. He leaned down and lifted the roller door. It squeaked and groaned in protest. 

Dean blinked in surprise. There was a car under a cover, wrapped up with a big red bow. 

“Sammy?” he asked quietly. “What is this?” 

“I remember you sold her to help keep our house when Dad died. I tracked down the guy who bought her and got her back. Cas did some of the ground work getting it here.” 

Dean yanked off the bow, and gathered the canvas cover in his arms. He stood staring. It was his Baby. She was here. In his garage. 

“Sam…” 

Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean from behind. He kissed the back of Dean’s neck. “Go on. Go for a drive.” 

Dean turned. “Come with me?” 

“I have to feed Claire,” Cas protested. 

Sam was waving his fingers for Claire’s pudgy fingers. “I got it. Claire and I can have some bonding time. Go on. Go play.” 

 

Sam waved at his brother and his brother in law as they headed down the street. He bussed a kiss on Claire’s cheek. 

“Come in, kiddo. Let’s get the house ready.” 

She gnawed happily on his finger.

 

Dean sprawled against the driver’s side door, Castiel leaning against his chest. 

“I lost my job today,” Dean said softly, his fingers entwined with Castiel’s. 

“Good,” Castiel replied flatly. 

Dean tilted his head down. “I’m not sure being unemployed counts as ‘good’.” 

“Now you can rebuild your autoshop. No more excuses.”

Dean’s lips pressed against his love’s temple. He smiled slowly. “No. No more excuses.” 

“That’s the man I married.” 

Dean rumbled a laugh and wrapped his arms around his husband. “Have I been so very bad?” 

“Yes,” Castiel said in his inimitable way. “You lost your way.” 

Dean slid his fingers through Castiel’s hair. “I have found it again. You and Claire, and Sammy, you helped me find it again.” 

“Oh.” Castiel kissed Dean briefly on the lips. “Well, good then.” 

The radio suddenly switched on, static filling the car. 

Castiel leaned forward and flicked it off. 

It turned on again. 

He scowled. “Dean, your car is defective.” 

Dean urged Castiel to sit up and he reached out to fiddle with the switch. It went clear for a moment and he swore he heard a sardonic feminine chuckle and he switched it off. 

Castiel was smiling. “We should go back. Best not to leave your brother with a small child for too long.” 

Dean nodded, squeezed his hand and started up the Impala. 

 

There were even more cars surrounding their home when they got there. 

“What’s going on?” 

Castiel frowned. “I don’t know. I can hear music though.” 

Dean pulled into the driveway behind Sam’s hire car. They both got out and headed for the front door. Brilliant smiles lit their faces at the sight of their friends crowding the room. 

Customers from the days when Bobby’s was still running. 

Even Fergus Crowley stood chatting with Sam. 

“What’s going on?” Dean ventured. 

A great cheer set up. 

Bobby pushed his way through to the front. “We heard about how that moron Zachariah Fuller fired you today.” 

Dean scrubbed his hands through his hair and over his face.

Ellen cam up beside Bobby and took her new husband’s hand. “You have helped all of us through the years, so now we figure it’s time for us to help you.” 

“What with Cassie there having a decent enough position at his firm, and the …” Crowley spoke up, gesturing with a cut crystal glass of whiskey, “ …income potential of the business… Lawrence Finance will get you a loan with some rather decent rates. I was …convinced.” He gestured around him. “I have some persuasive customers.” 

Dean shared a glance with Castiel, who stepped closer, wrapping his arm around his husband’s waist. 

“We heard Sammy found you your old car.” Ellen continued. “And between us all, we have raised enough to get some new equipment for your shop, and to finally…” 

“..Finally, send the two of you on a honeymoon to Italy.” Jo interrupted with a huge grin, her blonde locks tangling with Claire’s. “A week in Venice, a week in Rome.” 

“Dean..” Castiel said hoarsely. 

“No.” Dean shook his head. “No, I can’t let you all do this.” 

Ellen stepped close. She curved her hands over his cheeks. “I never thought to replace your mother, ever, but you and Sam became like my own. You kept Jo and I from falling apart.” 

Dean studied Ellen’s face, then glanced over her shoulder at a grinning Jo. Ellen leaned up and kissed Dean on the cheek. 

“Now be a good boy and let us help you,” she whispered. 

For the first time in a long, long time, Dean hugged Ellen, lifting her briefly off her feet. He set her down.

“Everyone, thank you.” Tears sparkled in his eyes. “Thank you.” 

Jo brought Claire forward and Dean clutched his daughter. 

On the Christmas tree a bell jingled brightly. 

Dean frowned. He glanced around, over the heads of all the people that had come to mean so much to him. A woman stood near the back. Heart shaped face, wicked smile, and a wink when she saw him spot her. Meg pressed her finger tips to her lips and blew him a kiss. 

For the briefest moment, he could swear he saw the shadow of wings. 

And she was gone.

He pressed a kiss to Claire’s downy cheek. She patted his face with starfish hands and an affectionate chomp to his nose with a gummy smile.  

Dean chuckled. 

“Happy?” Castiel murmured softly, before he was borne away by people. 

“Yes.” Dean glanced up at the ceiling. “It took me a moment to realise it. But yes.” 

 

**_“Well that was harsh…but effective.”_ **

**_“You said his family meant everything to him.”_ **

**_“I did.”_ **

**_“So, I used that. After that, it was a piece of cake.”_ **

**_“Don’t get cocky, Meg.”_ **

**_“Hah.”_ **

**_“I have your first angel assignment.”_ **

**_“Awesome. What is it?”_ **

**_“Fergus Crowley.”_ **

**_“…You have to be kidding me.”_ **

 

 


End file.
